Imminent Threat
by Wing of Quetzalcoatl
Summary: To eliminate a team, you must eliminate their greatest weapon. When the Penguins get in the way of a mad genius's plans, he develops a way to use their greatest resource against them with no regards of the fact that this 'weapon' is a living, breathing member of the team. Can he control this surprisingly sensitive soul and forge it into the sword that will cut down these 'pests?
1. Overkill, Penguin Style

Living weapon. Maniac. Whirlwind of Destruction.

Rico felt the wind in his feathers as he tore through enemy after enemy, the sound of the blood pumping through his veins echoing the rumblings of the bombs launching through the air. Despite having gone on many undercover espionage operations after aligning with the North Wind, this is where he felt the most alive; a whirlwind on the battlefield with his brothers at his side.

To his right, Skipper was flawlessly disarming Tern soldier after Tern soldier. The leader's skill was matched only by his ambition. Rico watched with admiration as the flat-browed Penguin engaged more enemy soldiers than Kowalski and Private combined.

That's not to say that Kowalski and Private were slacking. To Rico's left, the scientist and the young soldier were using a tag-team method to distract and subdue enemies. While they did not have the 'brute force' advantage of Skipper or Rico, they made up for it in tact. The poorly trained enemy birds barely had time to blink before they were slammed into the ground by a flash of black and white.

Rico was glad to take down the remains. With a barrage of recently swallowed metal pellets, he disabled the remaining Terns with remarkable efficiency.

"Rico!"

Rico's head snapped up at the sound of his brother's commanding voice.

"Leave some for us, will you? It's not like we get to do this every day."

Rico sighed. Skipper was correct; while there had been an increase in these skirmishes, there were still a limited amount of missions on which they got to, as Skipper would say, 'Blow this tin can sky-high'. He let the remaining pellets fall limply to the ground with a sigh. Next time, he would remember to draw it out a bit longer.

He kicked a pellet which flew across the room, colliding with the head of the last standing Tern soldier. Even when not trying he was still a weapon of destruction.

"Rico!"

With an apologetic whimper, Rico walked over to the Tern and propped him in a standing position. He turned toward Skipper with a mischievous grin crossing his scarred features as he mimed a punch in the air.

"Fine," Skipper sighed. "I want you to know that this is only to make up for you stealing my thunder. Prepare to launch!"

Skipper rushed forward, leaping in the air at the last second. His foot collided with the Tern, sending it flying toward the other end of the base. Rico applauded, a huge grin plastered on his face. Skipper turned to him, smirking.

"You see, Rico? That's overkill Penguin style! You finished over there, boys?"

Kowalski and Private had finished analyzing the computers within the base. Motioning for Rico to begin 'controlled demolition', Kowalski made his way over to Skipper.

"The North Wind appears to be wrong about this being a strategic base, sir. I analyzed the system's hard drive and all I could find was downloads from online poker and long-ended television series."

"Nothing useful then?"

"Well, sir, I did manage to commandeer their copy of 'I Dream of Jeanie'"

"Great news, boys! This operation wasn't a complete waste of time after all! Rico got to take out several weeks' worth of bent-up psycho and we got enough material to fill not one, but three movie nights!"

Rico watched as his three brothers did a 'high-one' in celebration. Having finished embedding the dynamite within the base, he indicated to Skipper that it was time to rock-and-roll. They exited the base, discussing the future of their well-earned prize.

"Rico, would you do the honor"

The fire from the explosion illuminated the sky. It burned brightly, reflecting the fire within the soul of the weapon's expert. The four penguins watched as the flames rose higher and higher into the sky, blocking out the stars that looked down upon them. A dominating presence, much like the silent warrior that created them. Rico's eyes glowed red with the light of his creation. What, on Earth, could one love more than pure, un-restrained destruction?

"Soak it in, boys." Skipper's often grating voice had assumed a surprisingly soft tone. "Soak it in. Rico, bring any campfire treats."

Rico regurgitated a pack of marshmallows and the boys began to draw out an intricate plan on how they could possibly roast them on such a large flame without roasting themselves as well. With joy in the air, mixed with the scent of singed feather as the first attempt proved unsuccessful, it was no surprise that the four failed to notice the camera facing them from the shadows.


	2. Morning Mayhem

The next day started the same as any other. On other words, it was complete chaos.

The penguins, who had decided to marathon 'three movie nights' worth of footage in one night, had fallen asleep across the floor of their tent in some rather amusing, and somewhat unflattering, poses. Their effort had been valiant but, alas, the victor was the commandeered copy of 'I Dream of Jeanie'. Skipper, being the force of nature he always was, had lasted the longest. He had managed to crawl halfway to the television set in order to turn it off before collapsing face-first into the ground.

The sound of the morning alarm echoed through the tent. Skipper jerked awake, jumping to his feet to confront any would-be assailant. Unfortunately, the act of jumping into battle-position caused him to land directly on Rico.

The following explosion put the tent permanently out of commission.

Kowalski sat up with a groan. In front of him, a confused Rico was aimlessly looking around the destroyed tent while a wide-eyed Private was clinging a disheveled Skipper.

"Kowalski, damage report," Skipper sighed, rubbing the sleep from his reddened eyes.

"Private's rather disheveled and may have lost a few feathers. Rico appears to be still moderately intoxicated and I have a perfect impression of a stick of dynamite on my back. Also, I believe the technical term for the status of our tent is FUBAR, Skipper."

Skipper sighed, looking upward as the sun began to shine over the distant mountains. There were worse things in life than a ruined tent, he reflected.

"Kowalski, coffee options."

"The coffee maker appears to have been lost in the explosion, sir."

Rico groggily stood up, leaning on an empty bottle of Scotch for support. His sensitive ear holes were quickly filed with the sound of Skipper pitching a glorious fit. He glanced over just in time to watch Private pry Skipper off of a terrified Kowalski.

The weapons expert collected himself. He glanced up again to see Skipper chasing Kowalski around with a surprisingly empty coffee mug. Skipper was a caffeine dependent as Penguins come; something must be wrong for that cup not to be filled to the brim by this time in the morning. A look of revelation, followed by a look of sheer terror, crossed Rico's face as he glanced toward a disfigured piece of metal- the coffee machine.

Meanwhile, it appeared as though Skipper was attempting to make Kowalski regurgitate coffee into the cup. The leader's expression changed from rage-filled to eerily-calm as his de-caffeinated mind reached its semi-logical conclusion.

"Rico! Over here, pronto!"

Rico turned to run, but his intoxicated state prevented him from making it very far before he felt Skipper's flipper clutch the back of his neck.

"This will only take a minute, soldier! Is this a grenade? Does a grenade look anything like coffee to you, Rico? Do you hear me?"

Kowalski and Private maintained a safe distance while watching the chaos unfurl.

"Kowalski, should we tell him that Rico needs to drink coffee before he can regurgitate it? I mean, it's not like he can just produce it out of thin air."

"Stay out of this one, Private. Trust me."

Once they were able to secure a coffee-maker from a local store, things appeared to fall back into the normal routine. As the other Penguins took to running the circus, Rico decided to slip off to a stream to capture breakfast. The stream still carried the chill of winter but, to a penguin, it served as a refreshing dip. He dove down into a pool, grabbing the trout that had not detected the predator in time. With a full beak, he brought the fish to the surface and placed them within a straw basket. He dove repeatedly until the basket had reached maximum capacity.

He initiated his final dive, plunging into the deepest pool in the stream. He grabbed on to the rocks at the bottom of the stream and let the water flow over his streamline form. He reflected back to his short time as a mutant. He felt guilty admitting it, but kiss of the wind whipping around his wings and the freedom from the last chain of sanity made him reflect fondly back upon his time as a mutant.

He had loved being a monster.

Rico pushed himself off of the rocks and launched himself through the surface of the stream and into the air. For a beautiful moment, he almost felt free again.

Gravity regained its control shortly and Rico plummeted into the stream. He sunk to the bottom and looked up through the water. He wanted to be up there but he was trapped down here. He was trapped to responsibility, chained to sanity, and immobilized by restrictions.

Restrictions were the one thing Rico truly feared. There were restrictions placed by nature; the inability to fly, for instance. There were also restrictions placed by his elder 'brother', Skipper. Finally, there were restrictions Rico placed on himself. Restrictions that, if not followed, could cause Rico to lose everything he ever loved: family and home.

He resurfaced with a splash, hopping onto the limestone ledges surrounding the stream. He immediately noticed something was amiss; the basket was gone. He whipped around only to find the basket placed neatly right behind him.

"Funny, from what I was told, I expected the 'living weapon' to be faster than this."

The voice was accented and slimy with the occasional break. Rico glanced around to try and locate the source just as a second voice sounded from the shadows. Unlike the first voice, this one was lighter. However, there was a certain edge to it that put Rico on immediate alert.

"Even with your speed, do you even possess the strength to bend a flower in half," the second voice questioned. "How many enemies have you killed you insolent prey-bird? The weapon could shatter you into pieces and scatter you to the wind. The wind that, may I remind you, is ruled by my wings."

"Ugly-looking wings, if I may add."

"Wings that have hunted your pest species on the wind and drove them to the ground! I will demonstrate for you later, but first we must deal with the weapon. That is, unless, you want the boss to clip both of our wings."

Rico heard a crash from the tree above. He jumped back, body in battle position, a small form landed in front of him- an Atlantic puffin. Rico jumped back to put some distance between him and the newcomer just as a much larger form landed behind him. The new adversary unfolded its wings in an intimidating pose as Rico rapidly decided what his next move should be. He was, after all, facing down on of the penguin species' greatest mortal enemy- the Brown Skua.

.


End file.
